


as we become the winners (you lose a bit of summat)

by marcapada



Category: Political RPF - Indonesia 21st c.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 00:03:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11391171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marcapada/pseuds/marcapada
Summary: drabbles of jokohok.ratings may change, tags may be added more as time goes.title from arctic monkeys' despair in the departure longue





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> IT'S 3 FUCKING AM AND IM WIDE AWAKE AND NOTHING ON HAND BUT THIS SELF-INDULGENT INDOGOV DRABBLES BECAUSE I DO WHAT I WANT FUCK YOU VERY MUCH

 

 

"Recently, when I go on internet, the teenagers have been saying 'B aja', Hok. A part of me is very impressed they view something's worth in a scale from E to A, although that is kind of.. you know.. too narrow? I'm not saying subjective opinions are not right, I wish they could view things objectively, express their opinions with more arguments rather than a simple consonant. I'm sure they are already aware of the richness our mother language has, don't you think so, Hok?"

Ahok couldn't help but broke out in laughter. Tears slowly dripping from the corner of his eyes. Though his laughter had stopped and he wanted to argue that _yes, Ko, actually there are many of our youngsters have made a lot of well-written arguments in other side of internet, perhaps you just haven't discovered them yet_ yet he couldn't bring himself to believe the man who was in the list of New York TIME's 100 Most Influential People, the man whom he was sharing nice cups of tea with that evening said, _a certain teenagers' slang word was how they view something's worth in a scale from E to A._


	2. you're my favorite 'what if', you're my best 'i'll never know'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> unrequited love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and it's the 4th of july

it ached as hell.

it hurt, from the pit of his stomach to the backs of his eyes.

like getting stabbed right at his heart and shot by a gun twice. like having stepped his foot on a piece of glass, then having to limp until someone pulled it out and then having the tiniest piece of the glass still remained inside of him for the rest of his life. or something.

and for the first time, all the sad love songs he always disliked made sense. and for the first time too, all the sad love songs he always disliked stuffed his ears for six hours flat.

as he put two and two together and his brain _clicked_ and he realized why it's called crush. it crushed him so bad to watch _him_ smile, grin, look, speak at him not as the same way as he did.

he should let _him_ go.

but his stupid heart liked way too much to take full control over his right mind and sense, with his stupid optimistic spirit hoped _he_ might just feel the same. someday. someday. someday. 


	3. winter

“Alright, you’re good to go now.” Joko says, as he finishes dressing a wound on Basuki’s bloody knee.

“Or I can just stay here until school finishes.”

As Joko places the medical kits into the box, he stares thoroughly at Basuki’s wound. Because of a stupid soccer competition and his stupid ego and _I promise I’m gonna take home this trophy and shove it in front of our headmaster’s face and say ‘Told ya so, old man!’ and you all better be fucking proud of me_ —Basuki’s nice, hair less fair-skinned knee are now dirty of grass and dirt and dust and angry red marks. He has always liked Basuki’s legs. They’re muscled and look edible, compared to his dark-skinned scrawny legs. He sighs and says, “Okay, I’ll let Mr. Yono know,”

“And.. you don’t wanna stay with your wounded significant other here?”

It’s not the first time Joko has heard it, not even the first time Basuki has said it, but Joko still feels _that_ all the way down his neck everytime Basuki uses words like that. “No, there might be other players who need me later.” It comes out colder than he intended.

“Not even for 5 seconds?”

“No.”

“Cold.” Basuki grumbles. “So fucking cold.” He _pouts_ and Joko has to strain himself to kiss him. Because. Public decency, geez.

“That’s your punishment for acting foolish.” Joko stands up and pats Basuki’s hair before he walks off to wash his hands and put the medical box back to its place. “Rest well for me, yeah?”


	4. passion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow..... i can't believe people actually read and gave this shit kudos and comments.... thank you so much!!!! sends y'all lotsa virtual <3 <3 <3

Basuki thinks there’s an enigmatic magic squeezed in Owi’s eyes like no others. He doesn’t understand how come he likes how Owi’s eyes lit up when he talks about things he is passionate about. Or how they burst out flames of anger, how they darkened with lust.

Somehow he often finds himself absorbed-captivated-devoured to it every seconds.


	5. doll

“God, you did tons of good stuff and they just made a shiny candlewax doll of you. Moreover as accurate as the authentic product, huh? No- Wi, I’m not _envious_ , I’m just _wondering_ why do you call that kind of underestimation a huge ass _award_.”


	6. dance

They spin and turn around.

They kick into the air and fly.

They dance like the floor beneath their feet is lava, like tomorrow is the end for both of them.

Their rythm is their own breath. Their hands and stares won’t stop gluing to each other—not like the sweat and the disheveled hair are helping either.

Nobody understands them, their language, their dance.

After all, only two of them invented it and speak it and understand it solely.


End file.
